Cycles of Destruction
by HiddenMaster
Summary: The world of Dark Souls has been trapped in a never endind cycle of light and dark for eons, orchestrated by beings of unimaginable power for god knows what, the only certainty in the world that what little hope and happiness its inhabitants can find is fleeting and doomed to struggle to a bitter and tragic end. It's high time someone smashed the petty cycle to bits, isn't it?
1. Prologue

Dark Souls is owned and produced by From Software.

Demon souls is owned and produced by From Software with assistance from SCE Japan Studio

No permission has been obtained from any of the copyright holders for the use of the characters and situations from these series. This work of fiction is not for profit and not intended to infringe on copyrighted intellectual property in any significant or harmful way.

Should they, or any of their affiliates, request it this non-profit story will be taken off line as quickly as possible.

Any original characters, however, are owned by me and me alone. Should I find out someone has stolen my characters, I will find them and launch them out of a cannon and into the sun. Or beat them to death with a napkin, whichever mood I am in. If you want to use the characters, just ask. I'll probably say yes.

Feedback is encouraged. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows.

Anyway, let's get on with the story, shall we?

* * *

**Breaking the Cycle**

**Prologue**

**or**

**Meetings of Ominous Vagueness**

* * *

Space and time flowed and ebbed in an eternal hypnotic rhythm spanning the entirety of the fabric of existence. Hundreds of millions of iridescent universes, each a brilliant glowing chain in an otherwise empty void, branched off from the Origin, twisting and spiraling through all of reality. Some would occasionally intersect to form new worlds of possibilities while others would diverge and split off into countless subsidiaries, both varieties filled with unlimited potential bounty for their very foundations of existence. Throughout these infinite realities, myriad threads of light and dark intertwined and wrapped around the dimensions, fighting for supremacy and control at every turn in an unimaginable display of power. From this conflict, countless worlds were born; some destined to become visions of heaven, others of hell, while still more became something in-between, yet each and every one utterly unique. Creations was, in a word, beautiful.

Sometimes, "life" as a Monumental, a being that literally held together the very fabric of reality for an entire world, was almost worth it.

Almost.

For all of their power and gift of foresight into other worlds, they were still utterly blind in their own. The chain of Fate that bound their dimension to the rest of creation and lent them their powers also blocked their visions of their own futures to all but the faintest of glimpses… such as what was going to happen in the next few seconds.

Suddenly, he, along with every other Monumental in the Nexus fell over, screaming, as untold images and sounds flashed through his consciousness. Had he been a lesser being, the sheer volume and content of the information assaulting his mind would have utterly destroyed and liquefied his brain. Three weeks later, the screaming stopped and the youngest Monumental opened his eyes to the physical world around him for the first time in a hundred years.

He glanced to his right and left, noting as every other monumental left in the world do the same, although it wasn't really necessary. His senses extended far beyond the physical, and he could easily have known everything about the meditation chamber they were in down to the molecular composition of the perfectly symmetrical diamond pattern marble floor.

His oldest friend drew his attention as he stepped forward and out of his resting matt in a small ornate meditation cell inbuilt into the chamber wall. They had existed since near the very beginning of their world and had lived for untold millennia, watching as their world inevitably moved forward with ever increasing change during the passing eons. Even though they were no longer truly human, he still valued the Monunmental's friendship and wisdom, although emotions he had once known that hid in meaning behind the words were almost entirely foreign now.

"The chain has been broken." There was no need to explain any further. The other Monumentals patiently waited and willed him to continue. They all knew what had happened and what needed to be done, but they still respected the faint social necessities learned in a long forgotten age. Besides, of all the remaining Monumentals, they were the only two who remained somewhat talkative throughout the passing eons.

"There is not further doubt. We have passed a critical threshold in our path, and have been judged." He paused for a moment, letting it pointlessly sink in. "We failed." His friend's face was blank, but he spoke with great shame.

"Is there anything that can be done?" He already knew the answer, but devoutly wished he was wrong.

"No. The past and futures are now locked to us, and any effort to directly change that would be beyond pointless. We must face a simple fact: we made our choices, and they were wrong. What is to come will come whether we want it to or not.

He sighed. It was the first true sign of emotion he had shown in a very long time. "That only leaves one option open to us, does it not?" Three weeks earlier, they would not have even considered it because the mere possibility of its existence was hidden from view, and, had they even known, would have been considered utterly ridiculous but now they simply knew it was only remaining option to fix their mistakes.

"Yes."

"Do you think she can do it?"

"I don't know. That possibility is closed to us by her very nature. We can only offer her a chance to alter the path.

He mused for a moment, contemplating other possibilities. "What of her family?"

"They are unsuitable in the available time frame and pose a chance to do more damage to the scenario than is acceptable. Earlier incarnations could have worked, but they are lost to us."

The two Monumentals joined their brethren in silence after that, contemplating the repercussions of what was about to occur. Their time and guardianship of the plane was nearing its inevitable end, and it was time to pass the torch onto the next generation. Before that, however, they could throw one last ember into the encroaching dark.

"Come. We have a limited amount of time before this opportunity becomes closes to us. We must prepare."

* * *

**Hello everyone**

**Well, it has certainly been a while since I posted anything. Excuses? Absolutely none, I'm afraid. I just haven't been able to focus on writing for a really long time. It wasn't even writer's block- I had plenty of ideas, just didn't put them down. Oh well. **

**This is the beginning of of something I hope will bring satisfaction to all those Souls who played Dark Souls 2 hoping for something new and amazing and got pissed off after realizing that all their efforts were pointless and just part of a idiotic cycle doomed to repeat itself perpetually until the end of time... or at least, as the devolopers would have us believe.  
**

**...**

**Anyway, as I was saying, I had one more point to make, namely the rather clear Demon Souls characters being referenced here and familiar to any Souls veteran who remembers the arduous but well worth it journey that was Demon Souls. Now, I realize this is the Dark Souls Category and this technically belongs in the Demon Souls/Dark Soul crossover. The fact of the matter is that the vast majority of this fic, should I complete its ungodly length, will take place in Dark Souls to the point where it can only be considered a Demon/Dark Souls crossover in a technicality, so I'm just putting it in the Dark Souls category. Besides, I admit (rather selfishly) that it could get more reviews here. **

**Admittedly, this "chapter" is woefully short by my standards, but please stay tuned. In the next few days, I should release another tid-bit, thus creating my first multi-chapter story and hopefully the first of many to come.**

**HiddenMaster out.**


	2. Chapter 1

Dark Souls is owned and produced by From Software.

Demon souls is owned and produced by From Software with assistance from SCE Japan Studio

No permission has been obtained from any of the copyright holders for the use of the characters and situations from these series. This work of fiction is not for profit and not intended to infringe on copyrighted intellectual property in any significant or harmful way.

Should they, or any of their affiliates, request it this non-profit story will be taken off line as quickly as possible.

Any original characters, however, are owned by me and me alone. Should I find out someone has stolen my characters, I will find them and launch them out of a cannon and into the sun. Or beat them to death with a napkin, whichever mood I am in. If you want to use the characters, just ask. I'll probably say yes.

Feedback is encouraged. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows and hotdogs.

Let's get on with the story, shall we?

* * *

**Cycles of Destruction**

**Chapter 1  
**

**Or**

**An Univited Guest**

* * *

_I hate sighing._

Quelaan of Izalith, youngest and one of the few surviving daughters of the famed primordial lord the Witch of Izalith, alternatively known as the Fair Lady to the few who served in the ranks of the Chaos Servants, savior of the plague-afflicted denizens of Blightown, and mutated, sickly half woman/half chaos spider, had just sighed. In fact, she had been sighing a lot lately, which just made her want to sigh more. That, of course, would be extremely painful, as the mere act of breathing hurt these days. Then again, ever since she had gotten sick, everything hurt.

On the first night after she had taken the suffering denizens of Blightown's sickness into her own healthy form to spare their suffering, she had been reduced to a tear stained, catatonic wreck by the pain of her entire body rotting from the inside-out and regenerating daily in a never ending war between the disease and her inhumanly resilient immune system and regenerative abilities courtesy of her mutation due to the residual effects of the Chaos Flame. Over the years, as her body somewhat adapted to the disease, she had learned to deal with pain, but it was still hard. Sometimes, on nights where the agonizing open sores in her spider half wouldn't stop oozing a sickly combination of rotting black blood and puss or when she felt the rythmatic beats of her eggs slow and start to go cold with the touch of death, all she wanted to do was break down screaming, but she fought the urge as much as she could because she didn't want to worry anyone. Her sister and the rest of the Chaos Servants did everything they could to help her, providing warmth, food, water, anything she could possibly need in her desolate state, but most often almost nothing offered even temporary relief to her anymore with one exception: humanity. The sprites, she had found whenever Kirk or Quelaag managed to find them, always flooded her entire being with a deep rooted sense of warmth and comfort, easing her pain and even reversing some of the rotting in her spider half, but it never lasted. Sooner or later, the sickness always overcame the humanity given to her, and the disease would strike back with a vengeance. Nonetheless, she always welcomed the sprites, despite their… questionable origins.

Another reason for her sign was quite frankly boredom. Quelaag had left to go out hunting in the Demon Ruins, and her current guard, the Knight of Thorns, Kirk, was highly professional and rarely spoke whenever he was on her guard shift even though her was… somewhat more talkative whenever Quelaag was around. She used to love reading, but her immobile nature made reading materials difficult to acquire and, more importantly, her eyesight had long since been taken by her sickness, rendering her reading skills moot. Her entire world, once a comfortable life as practically royalty in the enlightened city of Izalith, where she could bask the wonders and gathered knowledge of her hard fought home, had been reduced to a single room in Quelaag's lair and her only source of contact with the outside world was via conversations with Quelaag or Kirk, the only two people she knew of still that could speak Izalan, the language of the long deserted city of Izalith.

_I miss Quelana and Quenami. Even in the bleakest of times, they could always make me laugh._

To make matters worse, conversations topics beyond mere survival were in short supply. She knew Kirk and Quelaag down-stated the state of the outside world whenever she asked and tried to make it sound okay, but she wasn't stupid. Through tidbits she had overheard from Kirk and Quelaag's quiet conversation, she had pieced together a rough outline of the current state of Lordran. Human civilization on the outside had mostly collapsed. Anor Londo apparently still silently stood, but no one knew what the inner city was like beyond its impenetrable walls. Hollows ran rampant as the First Flame faded, turning all of Lordran into a massive death trap. The only surviving primordial lord, Grave Lord Nito, had returned to his crypt and never emerged. The Chaos Demons that had bred and spread their filth over the once magnificent city of Izalith were growing in power and number, only held back from overrunning Lordran by Quelaag's routine rampages through their ranks. Finally, even though Quelaag vehemently denied it, she knew her sacrifice for the people of Blightown, taking in the cursed Blightpuss that all but the most powerful of miracles and healing arts had been unable to cure, had been pointless, and the people she'd saved had long since degenerated into incestuous, mutated freaks with no memory of their ancestor's plight and an overpowering thirst for blood.

All in all, it made for a rather depressing situation. Remembering that most of her family was insane, mutated, or dead made it even worse.

The worst part of it, however, was the feeling of uselessness. She, like all of her sisters, was a master pyromancer and fire sorceress. She had stared down swarms of colossal Everlasting Dragons as the world burned down around her. In their nightmare escape from Izalith, she had burned emerging demons to mere ashes just as much if not more so than Quelaag. Despite skepticism from her friends and family, all except Quelaag, she had been one of the first to look into the possibilities of pyromancy outside the simple art of destruction, and had subsequently created the first school of healing pyromancies that Izalith had ever known, an art that had enabled her to continue on and soldier through wounds fatal to anyone else, granting her an unprecedented level of survivability and regeneration in combat and, more importantly in her personal opinion, saving countless lives that otherwise would have been extinguished far too early in their path.

Now, however, she was blind, weak and perpetually near death, dependent upon others to sustain and care for her own life. She hated being a burden to Quelaag and Kirk and everyone helping her cling to life. She hated not being able to help out. She hated not being able to cleanse Izalith of the demonic filth infesting its ruins and rescuing her remaining family. She hated feeling pain every time she breathed. She hated the periodic panic and fear she felt as the sickness ate at her body to the brink of death only to be held back by precious humanity sprites as the disease twisted and rotted her body from the inside out. She hated feeling hatred for these things. Quelaan hated her life.

Despite all of the factors making her life a living hell, Quelaan was thankful for a few things. She was selfishly glad that, if anyone was to make it out of Izalith on the horrible night of its fall, Quelaag had made it. Out of all of her sisters, she was closest to Quelaag. Ever since they were children, they had been inseparable. She was the youngest of the Daughters of Chaos, born during the height of the Eternal War with the Everlasting dragons. Her mother had often been called away to fight in the multi-century long war, and most of her sisters, born decades earlier, were fully grown and almost always away with her mother in the war… all except Quelagg. Quelaag was a teenager at the time, and the responsibility to take care of her infant sister while their mother and older sisters were away fell to her; those formative years, just her and Quelaag, had created an unbreakable bond that had lasted their entire lives. When Quelaan came of age to learn the Fire Arts, Quelaag had taught her more than any of her sisters, even her mother. In the war, they always stood together, side by side, saving each other dozens of times from the stone dragons and their monstrous creations before its end. When Mother lost control of her flame and inadvertently unleashed the demons upon the world, Quelaag had unhesitatingly saved her before any of the others and fled the hell Izalith had become as the raw power of the Chaos Flame twisted the city and its inhabitants into horrifying monsters. When their bodies changed, their lower halves mutated by the residual exposure to the Flame of Chaos into massive horrifying chaos spiders, Quelaag had embraced her tightly, promising that no matter what happened, she would always be there for her.

She was also glad to have met the knight Kirk. Even with her eyes ruined, her other senses functioned relatively well, and she could hear his soft, steady controlled breathing coming from the opposite side of her resting chamber; his usual spot for guard duty. Kirk had been part of a group of Darkwraiths hunting others for their humanity many years ago. When he and his party had come across Quelaag's lair while she was away, they had sensed Quelaan's humanity and had immediately zeroed in on her location like hounds that had scented blood. Her only attendant at the time, Eingyi, had desperately tried to stop them once the illusionary wall was banished, but his poison pyromancies were next to useless against the Darkwraiths, and he was easily struck down, cruelly and viciously by the Knight of Thorns himself, opening the path to Quelaan and the irresistible mountain of collected humanity she held within. However, while a comrade was on the verge of gleefully striking her down in anticipation of the huge haul of humanity she would give, Kirk, on seeing Quelaan in her defenseless, fragile state, her ruined eyes unable to even see her attackers let alone defend against them, came to a simple epiphany that altered the course of his life; namely, that no matter the power offered by the darkness and Darkstalker Kaathe, it simply wasn't worth losing what precious little life and warmth left in his bleak heart that would be obliterated by killing Quelaan and stealing what precious little relief and comfort she had left. In an act of startling compassion, he had back-stabbed two of his fellow Darkwraiths before they could even react, prompting the last to flee just as Quelaag returned. The Darkwraith's screaming hadn't lasted long.

At first, Quelaag had been adamant in killing Kirk once she ensured Quelaan's safety and health, but Quelaan had managed to stay her hand. Something about Kirk had seemed… different. The Darkwraiths, in her limited experience, didn't have an inner flame: they were a black, screaming abyss that devoured all light. Kirk, on the other hand, possessed an inner fire that had stubbornly persisted on even as insatiable darkness bit and tore at it. Somehow, even though he had been submerged in the deepest abyssal darkness during his time in the ranks of the Darkwraiths, he had maintained some level of his humanity. In the end, Quelaag's mercy had not gone wasted. Kirk, when it was clear Quelaag wasn't going to cleave him in half and burn the body to ashes, immediately pledged himself to the Chaos Servants, and had served them faithfully ever since.

Over time, through numerous back-to-back battles against the Chaos Demons and invaders, he had even earned Quelaag's respect and friendship; the only person, let alone a human, to do so in a very, very long time. Quelaan had been shocked when Quelaag had spoken of Kirk with the barest hint of warmth and affection instead of her usual cold contempt. Quelaag had grown to even trust Kirk enough to guard Quelaan while she was away.

Quelaan, for her part, considered him a friend. At first, they hadn't been able to speak with each other on account of different languages, but Quelaag had solved that problem in a surprising show of generosity by gifting him one of the last rings of languages arduously and painfully scavenged from the ruins of Izalith. The first time he spoke to her and she understood, she had cried tears of joy for the first time in years, happy to hear any other understandable voice. Over time, he revealed his history to her, usually in the form of short stories that she hung onto like a lost puppy. His life, she found, had proven to be a fascinating contrast hers on the rare occasions when he spoke of it. She had grown up in the highest tiers of Izalith society while he had grown up in the up in the perpetually murky slums of Carim. He had fought his way out of poverty and left Carim to travel the world for many years before he was drawn to Lordran when the darksign was burned into his flesh. Quelaan loved to hear stories of his travels and adventures across the lands, and she couldn't help but laugh whenever he inevitably ended one of his stories with a dirty joke. Quelaag would occasionally listen in on his stories as well, and, although she tried to hide it beneath a veil of indifference, Quelaan knew Quelaag enjoyed the stories just as much, if not more than herself. Before Izalith's fall, Quelaag had loved traveling to distant lands to face new challenges and explore the foreign cultures and wonders of the unknown.

Quelaan also liked him because of his influence on Quelaag. Ever since their escape from Izalith, Quelaag had become increasingly withdrawn from the world, rarely speaking even to Quelaan. Once, she had been curious and outgoing, if admittedly aggressive, her desire for new sighs and challenges insatiable. After Izalith burned, everything but thoughts of survival faded from Quelaag's mind, and they had never really returned. The void in her heart had been filled with ever increasing bitterness, hatred, aggression, and paranoia towards everyone outside of her single remaining dear sister. Kirk, though, had changed that. She was still withdrawn and irritable, but in his presence, aspects of her old self occasionally rose up to the surface in the form of an occasional smirk, laugh, or playful remark. Had the situation been different, the romantic in her liked to believe Quelaag and Kirk would have been perfect for one another.

Her thoughts suddenly went blank as pain shot through her chest and she erupted into a minute long coughing fit, spitting up blood in the process. Kirk was by her side in an instant, gently patting her humanoid back and gently holding her as she hacked her lungs out. When the fit passed and she could breathe normally again, she didn't need eyes to know kirk had been liberally splattered with crimson droplets, but he didn't seem to mind, staying to comfort her.

"I'm sorry, Kirk," she paused and coughed a few more times before continuing, "but, could you please get me some water?" She hated bothering him, but her throat felt raw and bloody, and she could taste the acrid, sickly taste of her own tainted blood. If she didn't get a drink, she'd eventually throw up, which would be filled with even more blood and would hurt even worse and would probably lead to throwing up again in a vicious never ending cycle..

She heard Kirk shift around uncomfortably for a moment before he seemingly came to a decision and answered her in perfect Izalan. "Of course, my lady. Will you be alright for a few moments alone?"

From his tone alone, she knew he didn't want to leave her alone, but had seen what her coughing fits turned to and wanted to help. "I'll be fine, Kirk." She paused for a moment, her throat sore and scratchy, before adding, "Oh, and please, call me Quelaan."

"Of course, my lady." Kirk replied back, the barest hint of playfulness hidden beneath a respectful tone. Quelaan smiled ruefully in his general direction.

_ One of these days, I'm going to get him to call me by name, and then I can get him started on Quelaag._

His footsteps echoed loudly in the chamber but faded rapidly as he went to a hidden well utilized by the Chaos Servants. Izalith didn't have much in the way of drinkable liquids except for the endless rivers of molten rock and the water of Blightown was a poison saturated, parasite ridden death trap that not even boiling and a healthy dose of neutralizers could purify, but the a few natural springs deep beneath the surface taint yet retained their natural purity and was safe to drink.

Eventually, no matter how she strained, she couldn't hear any more movement and was alone once more. She sighed again, but quickly brightened. She may have been blind, but what little pyromancy she could still manage let her see, after a fashion. All natural living beings carried an inner light, so to speak, and if she focused, their inner light could become clear to her. Her brow furrowed in concentration for a moment, her eyes closed, and suddenly the inner flames of everyone in the immediate area around her became crystal clear. Kirk's dark flame was moving quickly away to the north, its pale light smooth and steady. To her delight, she sensed Quelaag at the very edge of her effective range to the north-east at the edge of the Demon Ruins; she'd be home soon. Congregated in the tunnels and just outside of Quelaag's lair were the odd beings she'd heard Quelaag call eggbearers.

She didn't know much about the eggbearers other than that they had taken in some of her eggs to reduce the burden on her failing body, and that; rather suspiciously, Kirk and Quelaag changed the subject every time she asked. What little she did know was that they were members of the Chaos Servants who served her and her sister in various ways, and were apparently very loyal to her for her actions taking in Blightown's sickness. Beyond that, they were a mystery, as she had never been able to even talk to one, and Kirk, possessor of one of the few artifacts remaining that could translate their speech into something she could understand, refused to take off his ring of languages, and construction of more was impossible as the art was lost when Izalith burned. The only thing she knew for certain about them beyond mere suspicions was that their inner flames seemed manic and twisted, as if something was terribly wrong with them. She hoped her fears were wrong and they were alright and, if what little her sister said about them were true, she really wished she could thank them for their help.

Wait a second, that wasn't right. Why couldn't she? All she had to do was go ask Ringmaster Tsulanda at the Temple of Artifice for a ring of languages and then walk over, show them her biggest smile and…

_ No…_

Wait a second, that wasn't right. What was she doing at Gwyn's stupid bell? Where were Quelaag and the rest of her sisters? For that matter, where was her mother? Weren't they just getting ready for the ritual to recreate the First Flame? She jerkily stood up on two solidly bipedal pale human feet in an elaborately decorated, gold inlaid room and…

_This isn't right._

Wait a second, that wasn't right. Where was Quelaag? She had promised to help her learn the Fire Arts today even though mommy said she wasn't old enough…

_What's going on?_

Wait a second, that wasn't right. Brimstone filled her nostrils, and her eyes shot open with undisguised primal terror reflecting off of her gold tinted amber eyes. Why was she sitting here? The demons were right behind them! She had to keep running or they'd catch her and Quelaag just like the Fire Sages and…

_Stop it._

Wait a second, that wasn't right. Why can't mommy be here, Quelaag? She promised me she'd be here for my birthday. I even made her favorite spice cake…

_I said STOP IT!_

Time slammed to a sudden halt as order was restored to the fractured timeline. Nothing moved, not even the flames of the room's single bonfire, its never ending fire frozen in motion.

Quelaan breathed in short rapid breaths, her human half trembling, covered in sweat as adrenaline flooded her ruined body for a fight it couldn't possibly win. One second her senses were shrouded in a veil of liquid shadow, truly blind for the first time in years. She couldn't even sense the familiar flames of everyone she held dear, and nothing was audible except for the rapid beat of her own panicking heart. The next instant, it simply was, and always had been. There were no words that could do it justice. It wasn't the dark touched ember of humanity, the raw fire of her people the Izalan, or the brilliance of Gwyn's ilk. The sheer power behind it was mind boggling and made her feel faint. Her mother's own flame, the brightest and hottest she had ever known, was a pale candle to the sun that it was.

Just glancing at it hurt, and blood started to flow out of her eyes, yet she couldn't look away. It wasn't clear, but she felt as if the more she looked, the more connections, the more possibilities of the blatantly impossible she saw branching off from the miniature sun in front of her, as if this being was connected to the core of creation Her head started pounding and erupted into a steadily expanding exponential pain that radiated from her entire being as she felt a strange pressure pushing down and against her entire body, and she absently wondered if she was going to die as she struggled to pierce the veil of light in front of her.

"Hmm, you stabilized the fracture afflicting this timeframe. Interesting." The voice was not vocal, she realized. It came from insider her own head and was both an insanely loud roar yet barely more than a mere whisper as if heard from a great distance. Blood began to flow more steadily from the tear ducts of her opaque eyes, as well as from her ears, nose, mouth, and several other dozen places on her body.

"Oh, my apologies." The brilliant sun in front of her said, as if just realizing something important that should have been obvious. Suddenly, that which had existed and always will was gone, replaced with a young bald man in ornate gold trimmed white robes. It didn't matter that her dead eyes hadn't functioned in years. She still saw him. "I haven't had to worry about that in a long time. Is that better?"

"Who… who are you?" So many questions flowed through her mind in that one moment, battling with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, but this was the only one of many that she was able to choke out.

"What I am is… unimportant. The only important factor here is _you_." The being's eyes flashed with a bright white glow for a moment before fading away, and he suddenly looked worried, glancing around at something unseen before returning back to her. "My apologies, but time is of the essence. I hope you can find it within your heart to forgive me for placing this burden upon you, but this is the only option remaining to rectify the mistakes of the past."

"Wait, what are you-," Blood suddenly spurted out of her mouth in an explosive spray of crimson. Shocked, she slowly tilted her head to look down and saw through the bangs of her snowy white hair, in the blink of an eye, the being had moved to stand right in front of her, his slender hand now buried up to the wrist in a gory, very new gaping hole in her deathly pale chest that rhythmically spurted crimson blood according to the beat of her heart. Distantly, she found to her sheer horror that she could feel the being's slim fingers grasping her heart in a surprisingly gentle grip. She tried to speak, to scream, to do anything to express the sheer agonizing pain of what had just occurred, but instead she could only sit in shocked morbid silence as her rib-cage was not so much ripped as smashed open to reveal her still beating heart; the being looked her in the eyes and frowned, as if realizing something unpleasant. "Please brace yourself. This is going to hurt. A lot."

The iridescent being lit up with a blinding white aura and suddenly she knew true pain far greater than anything she had experienced in her long life. Every single pain receptor in her entire body was ignited and sent into overdrive as she felt every single last one of her muscles, sinews, tissues, and even her bones ignite in waves of blinding pain as they were forced to shift, rearrange, and, in some cases, literally be violently expelled from her body. In this dire situation, she did the only reasonable thing possible. She screamed, every last ounce of agony in her entire being distilled in an audible, ear-piercingly loud, long, and terrible form for one long moment that lasted a seeming eternity before the darkness blissfully overtook her and welcomed her into the sweet embrace of oblivion.

* * *

**Hey everyone  
**

**Told you I'd get something else uploaded in the next couple of days. This is a bit up to my standards in terms of length, but I think I'm going to try writing shorter chapters, both so that my attention span doesn't start to drift too much in the time it takes to release a massive chapter and so that readers can expect updates before a year has passed. Now, I will admit this is a bit of a fast release rate for a story of mine, especially considering my usual post-ratebut I honestly had this all ready and it just needed a little extra editing.**

**Speaking of which, anyone interesting in Beta Reading, just pm me. I think I edit things well enough and catch my own mistakes, but I will always miss something that a second set of eyes would catch.**

**Anyway, as for the story: introducing one of our main characters. I won't say who the other is. I really like the Fair Lady in Dark Souls, and she's one of the nicest characters in game on every play through I always join the Chaos Servants to give her a massive amount of humanity for no other reason than to ease her pain and I can. I also feel that she seriously deserved something to commemorate her or another chance in a story, as she seriously recieved the worst end of the deal on every front; beloved sister dead,entire family gone or mutated or too scared to just drop by and say "Hi!" (I'm looking at you Quelana), her home and civilization long gone, dying of a disease almost no one remembers, the people she'd saved degenerated... you get the idea.**

**One thing I had to change was the story's rating. I now realize that this story is seriously going to deserve an M rating, mostly because of gore such as what was described in the story but also because of some seriously darker elements I have planned later on. Anyway, I think I'll cut this bloated author's note off here and just say thanks for review this so far, means a lot to me.  
**

**HiddenMaster out**


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